


and i know i've kissed you before, but i didn't do it right

by freshbaguette



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Post-Season/Series 03, Power Play, Praise Kink, this is literally just office sex with stupid yearning and poetic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24780877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshbaguette/pseuds/freshbaguette
Summary: Eve holds onto Villanelle’s gaze like a lifeline, like a final breath, like a fool reaching for the bloody knife again. Like Orpheus turned to see if his lover was still there, a terrible binding action full of unholy yearning. However, instead of condemning Eurydice to stay in the Underworld, Eve is condemning Villanelle to stay with her.Which, Eve thinks, is an even worse fate.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 25
Kudos: 235





	and i know i've kissed you before, but i didn't do it right

Eve holds onto Villanelle’s gaze like a lifeline, like a final breath, like a fool reaching for the bloody knife again. Like Orpheus turned to see if his lover was still there, a terrible binding action full of unholy yearning. However, instead of condemning Eurydice to stay in the Underworld, Eve is condemning Villanelle to stay with her. 

_Which_ , Eve thinks, _is an even worse fate._

Villanelle stands there in her stupid juvenile yellow coat; she holds eye contact with an unspeakable tenderness. When did Villanelle become so human? And why does she look so young? The two of them standing on the edge of the bridge, the ground falling away mere inches from their feet, Eve is filled with a sense that they’re standing on the edge of the world, teetering between sanity and something raw and greater beyond the event horizon. If one of them stepped forward, Eve knows they’d be pushed past that point of no return.

And Villanelle gets closer, but it takes a few moments for Eve to realize it’s her own feet that are taking those staggering steps across the no mans’ land of gritty sidewalk. Eve is taking those first steps, just like she was the first to turn around. She wants this. This, everything, this beautiful broken woman with all her murderous impulses and fits of pique and circus-clown laughter and strange, ragged gazes. She wants it all, and she’s so, so tired of denying herself the only thing she’s ever truly needed.

Villanelle lurches forward, too, seemingly in a daze, drawn magnetically back to Eve, their arms outstretched, fingers grazing—clasping. Their embrace, the heart of the black hole. Their heads tilting, lips meeting, and, _oh_ , Eve _wants_.

It’s not their first kiss, but it feels just as blindingly new as it did on the bus. The bus was a hit-and-run, Eve’s arousal born of the shock of seeing Villanelle in England and the adrenaline humming in her veins as Villanelle fought her way on top of her. Now, Eve wants more than a single moment. She’s chased Villanelle across the continent for years, furtive glances and near-death encounters almost foreplay for this, an increasingly heated kiss hinting at more to come. 

“Come home with me.”

Villanelle smirks against Eve’s lips. “Want me to douse you in bathtub water again? Just for old times’ sake?”

“No—no games. I’m sick of waiting,” and Eve bites Villanelle’s lip, vengefully, and relishes her startled yelp of pain.

Villanelle screws up her face in mock-disgust. “Why are we at your office, again?”

“Home sweet home,” Eve laughs, “I don’t think I can get back into my old place at the restaurant, and besides, it’s so disgusting it’s probably been declared a public health hazard. I’ve been sleeping here for the past few weeks.”

“You are so funny, Eve. Your sense of humor is fucking me on linoleum?”

“...Something like that.”

After Eve fidgets with the lock, they stumble into the elevator, Eve barely managing to slam the right floor button before Villanelle presses an open-mouthed kiss against her lips and shoves her against the elevator doors, hands everywhere, touches branding Eve’s skin with the sheer lust and heat of the moment. 

_She’s here, I’ve got her, after all this time_ , Eve thinks, rabidly. Despite the trapping press of Villanelle’s body, Eve is unafraid, enthralled, even. _She_ wants _me._

Eve’s hands come up to cup Villanelle’s face, then slowly trail down her body, savoring every curve until her fingers hook in Villanelle’s belt loops. She jerks her fingers, catching Villanelle off guard and flipping them over so that Villanelle’s back lies flush against the metal doors.

Villanelle barks out a laugh, sharp and bright, “Oh, she’s feisty!” She seems amused more than anything else, and Eve swallows her laughter whole, sliding her tongue into the wet heat of Villanelle’s mouth.

The elevator dings open. Eve shoves a leg between Villanelle’s, eliciting a breathy sigh and causing her to stumble backwards into the lobby. They fumble across the hallway to the office, a great beast with eight awkward limbs and two red-hot, beating hearts, pulling off their bulky coats. Both of them vying for dominance, they stumble into the office, and Villanelle dips her head to suck wet kisses at Eve’s neck, teeth grazing her pulse point. Eve whines as Villanelle nips a trail across the flesh above her collarbones, momentarily distracted, allowing Villanelle to trap her against the side wall.

Villanelle makes quick work of Eve’s fly, shoving her hand down between Eve’s pants and underwear to palm at the heat between Eve’s legs. Her left hand wraps around Eve’s hip, her firm grasp thrusting Eve’s pelvis forward against her right hand. Eve moans, a frustrated, hungry breath, and Villanelle obliges by pumping her middle finger gently against the damp fabric. She holds her pace for several minutes, achingly slow and leaving Eve desperate. 

“More, oh _god_ , I’ve needed this for too long—” Eve starts, but Villanelle simply smiles against her neck and slips her hand out of Eve’s pants to rest just above her waistband, thumbing the soft fabric.

“Mmm, and how do we ask _nicely_ ,” Villanelle teases. 

Eve presses back against the wall to glare at Villanelle. Villanelle looks up, and Eve’s brow is furrowed in anger, but her blown-out pupils betray her lust, her unquenched desire. She moves to press Villanelle’s hand back between her legs, but Villanelle lets go and steps back, watching with supreme satisfaction the tremble of Eve’s knees without the support of VIllanelle’s hands. 

Eve falters, then surges forward to align their lips, voice breaking as she moans, “please, _please_ , Villanelle.”

“That’s right.”

Villanelle cups Eve’s waist and pushes her back against the wall, hooking her fingers in her pants and underwear and shoving both down to pool at the ground. Eve kicks her footwear off, and then the mass of clothing at her ankles. While Villanelle’s attention is drawn to the shuffle of feet and fabric, Eve jabs her shoulder into Villanelle’s windpipe and steps them away from the wall. They trip over to Eve’s desk, Eve bending Villanelle backwards over the desk and wasting no time in pulling off her pants and underwear down below her ass, slipping a hand between her legs and trailing two fingers against the heat of her center.

It’s a daze of hot breaths and desperate sounds, Eve circling Villanelle’s clit with an insistent, jagged rhythm, Villanelle’s hands rucking up Eve’s shirt to thumb her nipples. Villanelle cants her hips up and half-laugh, half-whines when Eve’s middle finger slides back and forth over her clit, slick and burning-hot with Villanelle’s own wetness. Her back is pressing into the sharp edge of Eve’s desk, but she can’t even be bothered to complain, adding the pressure to the overwhelming list of sensations that sex with Eve entails, a dance between pleasure and pain. Their kisses are like collisions, tongues slick against each other, and it seems that at some point Eve bit and drew blood from Villanelle's bottom lip. She can taste the metallic tang, feel it smeared frantically across her chin.

As for Eve, it’s everything she wanted with Niko and never received, sex like a game with a Russian roulette danger to it. Sex where each lovebite is with piercing canines, where fingernails dig into skin with a knifeblade edge, where everything is burning hot and beautiful. _You saved me_ , Eve thinks, and it’s not until Villanelle’s hands slow around her breasts and their eyes meet that she realizes that she’s said it out loud.

Villanelle’s blonde locks frame her face in a mockery of a golden halo; with her hair messy and falling out of her bun in wisps, backlit by the flickering office lights, she almost looks holy. She’s the spitting image of a martyr with the blood fresh across her face. Her eyes soften and she takes on an ironically childish countenance, “Eve, just because I am not trying to _kill_ you right now does not mean I am _saving_ you.”

“Oh, shut up,” Eve grunts, but smiles in spite of herself. Here, with Villanelle’s hands pinching and twisting nonsense patterns at her nipples, with Villanelle’s breath hot and insistent in her mouth, with Villanelle’s legs trembling and spread around her, Eve feels whole. _Everything leads to you. Everything for the past years has been leading to this moment, whether I knew it or not,_ Eve thinks.

Eve kisses Villanelle with newfound urgency, swallowing her cries at Eve’s fingers thrusting into her relentlessly, pressing that small golden spot at an almost punishing pace, toeing the line between pleasure and pain. Their clothes have somehow ended up on the floor, their bras unclasped and discarded. Villanelle’s given up on touching Eve, resigned herself to clawing fingernail trails across her back. She holds on with the urgency of pressing down on a bloody wound, riding the thread of pleasure as Eve fucks her with her fingers and dips her head to kiss, then suck at Villanelle’s breasts.

“Oh-oh-oohh,” Villanelle whines, “Eve—”

“What—”

“If you keep this up—if you keep this up, I am going to come.”

Eve stills, then her eyes take on a devilish glint, “Oh, oh no, wait, I have another idea.” Then kisses her sweetly, free hand coming to cup her face, “Follow me.”

Eve shuts the door behind them.

“The bathroom?” Villanelle quirks her eyebrows, “Really?” She walks around to look at herself in the closest mirror, and pauses, “Oh god, Eve, what did you do to me?”

Eve comes up behind her, tilting her chin upwards to rest it on Villanelle’s shoulder and embracing her from behind, “Something that felt good, I hope.”

That vulnerable surprised look, again, and Eve can’t tell if Villanelle is mocking her or not. It feels like there’s a humorous edge to it, but just below the surface is real emotion, Eve _knows_ , despite what she’s been told about psychopaths and how they feel. Eve knows Villanelle, because Eve knows herself.

“I’m the assassin here, but you are the one who is so violent and controlling,” Villanelle leans forward to examine her burgeoning necklace of hickeys, the thumbnail scratches on her hips, her split and bleeding lip. Eve’s arms have come up to play with Villanelle’s breasts again, lazily and dream-like.

“Mmm-hmm,” Eve whispers, mouth open against the juncture of Villanelle’s neck and shoulder, “Guess I thought you wanted it.”

“Now you’re the expert on what I want?”

“Was I right?”

Villanelle stalls, thinking of what she’s wanted in the past. To be better than Dasha and all those other uninspired assassins, the thrill of the kill, good sex, to be a handler. Sure, she’s wanted these things, but they were all means to feel something else. And what is that something else? Villanelle has gotten all the power she’s ever set her sights upon, and it’s never been enough, but in Eve’s arms, she feels like she’s on the verge of having what she’s been chasing all these years. 

Contemplative, she misses Eve’s left foot stepping back, Eve’s right ankle coming around to hook in front of Villanelle’s right shin and jerk it back. Villanelle staggers back, ass flush against Eve’s hips, torso lurching forward and elbows hitting the sink to catch her weight. Maybe she was lost in thought, or maybe a part of her secretly wanted this—Eve’s firm hands, her direction, her unpredictable touch.

Eve smiles, “Still thinking?” Her right hand comes down between Villanelle’s legs again, resuming the hot, fast pressure of before and quickly filling Villanelle with the golden thread of pleasure that always comes just before orgasm. “Is this good? Is this what you want?” Her other hand cupping Villanelle’s breast, rolling the nipple, then pulling back to give it a light slap. Villanelle inhales sharply.

“Yes.” More a groan than a word. Her head lolls down as she relaxes into Eve’s touch.

The mirror fogs up as Villanelle exhales shuddering breaths; she starts to lose track of her train of thought, her mind filling with the pure ecstasy of Eve finger-fucking her as she’s bent over the bathroom sink, the balls of her feet digging into the grimey tile and thighs shaking, pushing her hips up to give Eve just the right angle to—there, oh god, right _there_.

Eve’s free hand comes up to cup Villanelle’s tucked chin, thumb smearing the blood mingled with sweat and thrusting her pointer and middle fingers into Villanelle’s mouth. Villanelle feels so _full_ , tongue sliding languidly across the pads of Eve’s fingers, Eve’s right hand with three fingers crooking _just so_ inside Villanelle, curling so sweetly Villanelle thinks she might cry. 

“Look up, Oksana.”

Villanelle isn’t sure she heard correctly, over her overflowing babble of, “Please, Eve, please, please, mmh, more, please—”

“I said, look up,” Eve’s hand pulls out from Villanelle’s mouth and fingers thread through her hair, making a fist and pulling up with a gentle insistence.

Villanelle catches Eve’s gaze in the mirror, the sweat on Eve’s temples and Eve’s blown-out eyes, and then stares at herself, completely undone. There’s something feral about the crazed halo of her hair, the red streaks across her chin and lower cheek, her unguarded gaze and slightly parted lips, the filthy arch of her back.

“Beautiful,” Eve breathes, fingers still working Villanelle open; Villanelle moans. “So beautiful, so sexy, you’re so _good_ , Villanelle, baby—” and Villanelle lets out a trembling cry. 

Their gazes meet in the mirror, both breathing heavily, “You’re such a _good girl_ ,” Eve says in a voice that’s more vibration than sound, and Villanelle is overwhelmed, drowned in praise and acceptance; she makes a noise like she’s been punched, and comes slick against Eve’s hand.

“F-fuck, oh fuck, Eve, yes, please, mmh,” Villanelle is mindless, spitting expletives left and right, wanting, wanting, and _having_ , at last.

This is everything—this is it. It’s not power Villanelle has always needed, but _Eve_ , unexpected, harsh but caring, surprising her by giving her everything she wanted but never knew she did. It’s the best sex she’s ever had, it’s the most she’s ever felt in her life.

She turns to face Eve and drops to her knees in exhaustion. Eve is looking at her with a gaze that holds an amalgam of emotions, but Villanelle first picks up on the desire to climax.

She shoulders Eve’s thigh backward and smiles victoriously when Eve shudders and her back slams against the stall door behind them. Villanelle buries her head between Eve’s thighs and laps stripes up and against her clit, Eve thrumming with desire and already so, so close. She comes with a shout, legs shaking, hand fisted in Villanelle’s hair, feeling that the universe has shrunk down to the unbearable heat of Villanelle’s mouth on her, this bright pinpoint of pleasure, pleasure, pleasure.

Eve is wearing Villanelle’s yellow coat and nothing else. Villanelle, back in her underwear, watches as Eve slumps against the wall. They’re both sitting on the same giant beanbag in the front of the office.

“Was I as good as Niko?”

Eve barks out a laugh, “Oh my god, so much better.”

“I don’t get why you stayed with him for so long.”

“It’s complicated.”

“No, not really. Being with Niko meant you were safe, but you weren’t, not really.”

“Because of you.”

“No,” Villanelle stares, “Because of _you_.”

Eve says nothing.

“You’re dangerous, Eve, and powerful,” Villanelle puffs her cheeks and blows out a petulant breath, “It’s very sexy, really.” Eve is looking at her, searching. “You weren’t safe because you’re not a _safe_ person, but I don’t mind.”

Eve sighs and relaxes, leaning against Villanelle and resting her head on her shoulder. She digs through her purse, then lifts a cigarette to her mouth and lights it elegantly. 

“You look too good doing that. You belong in one of those film noir detective shows, with the suspenders and shitty lighting and everything,” Villanelle jokes.

Eve blows out a mouthful of smoke and glances over, “Would you be in it, too?”

“Sure. The sexy assassin you hunt down in the final seasons. Your final challenge.”

“Do I get you in the end?”

Villanelle catches Eve’s gaze and holds it. Slowly, slowly, she leans in and presses a feather-light kiss to her lips. Eve kisses back, smiling and lazy, as if they have all the time in the world and an entire future stretched out before them. 

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "Pink in the Night" by Mitski https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-B5yr2zyY0 but u guys are reading villaneve fanfiction so u probably already knew that. written for my friend's birthday five months after the date but better late that never!! she also beta'd it for me so much love to her
> 
> thank u for reading pls comment if u liked it i'd love to hear ur thoughts on oksana "mommy issues" astankova developing a praise kink and being a total bottom to eve... i just think that is so sexy


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